


Lights of No World

by elissastillstands



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Gen, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 03:40:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18065921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elissastillstands/pseuds/elissastillstands
Summary: After Talos IV, Michael and her brother talk about what happened between them. Takes place after 2.08 “If Memory Serves.”





	Lights of No World

The trip to the Section 31 headquarters will take them a little over a day at maximum warp. Michael leaves her brother to debrief with the captain and goes back to her quarters. She leans against her window and stares out at the warp trails beyond. The bright streams, generated in the in-between places of space, never fail to fill her with a sense of wonder.

Her doorbell chimes. _Identification: Lieutenant Spock_ , her computer announces. Michael calls for the door to open.

“Michael,” her brother says. He hovers outside of the entrance to her room. In the reflection in the window, she can see him standing, hands clasped behind his back.

“Spock,” she responds. “How was your debriefing with Captain Pike?”

“It was routine. He was concerned about my wellbeing.”

“We’re all glad to have you back safe and sound.”

He doesn’t respond. They stand in silence for a long moment.

“Come in,” Michael says at last.

He steps into her room, and she turns to face him. Her hands fall behind her back as she studies him. They stand the same way—shoulders square, chins high, hands tucked away so they cannot impinge on the spaces of others. Just as they were taught.

“I wanted to see how you were faring,” he says stiffly. “Interaction with the Talosians can have a significant toll on psionically inert species.”

“You came here to ask me how I was doing?”

“Is it not a reasonable action, to question how my own sister might be doing? I simply wished to—”

“You haven't done that for me in years,” Michael says, smiling a little. “Not since we were little.”

He clears his throat, turning his face away. “I—wish to speak to you. About that.”

“Do you?” Michael raises her eyebrow. She tries to keep her voice light and level. He's made his peace with it; she should make hers. At least they're on speaking terms again. “Spock, it's fine. I understand. The best thing at this stage for us both is to try to move past that—”

“And yet you are clearly displaying signs of emotional distress—”

“You made it patently clear on Talos IV that my emotions are irrelevant.” Her voice is sharp and loud. They are no longer mirrors—her fists are clenched in front of her, her shoulders tense, her whole body straining. She wants to shake him until he feels as unmoored as she does. 

Spock looks uncomfortable. “I was simply referring to the fact that our time was limited. I did not mean to diminish your distress.”

Michael laughs abruptly, and they both cringe at the sound. She turns away and paces to the window, staring out at the ribbons of warp light in the space beyond. 

“You know,” she starts, “my memory of that night is hazy, only half-there. I sometimes think back to it, and I wonder—I was mean to you. I said cruel things that capitalized on your vulnerability, your ostracization and loneliness. But you realized even then that I was trying to protect you, and—and you still hated me.” She’s half-shouting now. “You kept hating me. And every time you looked at me like you didn't want to know me, my memory of what I did became a little worse, until I was convinced I had betrayed you and the rest our family. Until I thought that I didn't deserve any more. For the longest time, I thought that you should hate me.” Michael looks away from the lights of no world and back over to her brother, trying to keep her chin high. “For the longest time, I thought I was a monster.”

Her brother flinches. “You are hyperbolizing the situation, Michael.”

“Am I?” His words would sting more if she couldn't see the concern on his face, which verges on alarm. She forges on. “You can do better than accusing me of hysteria. I had killed my mother and father on Doctari Alpha through my selfish curiosity. I brought danger to you and Sarek and Amanda.” She is shaking. “I hurt my little brother, who looked at me like I hung both the suns in the sky. What other word can I use?”

“You never killed anyone, Michael; you are not to blame for the violence others inflict. You act like you have to take responsibility for every misfortune in the world around you, like everything is your fault—”

“— _but no one has ever told me that it isn't_.”

Spock stills. Michael stiffens. She only half-recognizes the words which came from her mouth as her own.

“Did you ever consider that?” Her throat feels raw, like she is dragging out her phrases by force. “I was the one who wanted to see the supernova. I was the one who had the audacity to try to be Vulcan. I was the one who pushed you away. Why shouldn't it be my fault?”

“Logic dictates that it is incorrect to assign blame—”

“Logic dictates one thing, and individuals another. You blamed me. I was provably a source of danger to our family. Sarek pushed me away from Vulcan when I failed to gain entry into the Vulcan Expeditionary Group. I tried to protect you, and to fit into your world, and when I left Vulcan, I tried to be the best representative of our family I could be—and I tried—”

Michael swallows hard. “And then—then I was convicted for mutineering. Every death in the Klingon War fell on me, and I had to make amends for that as well, and I tried, and I tried, and I'm still trying to make up for everything I have done, and I—” her voice breaks, thick with unvoiced tears. “I’m tired. Maybe this makes me even more selfish, but—it feels like I've spent my whole life trying, and I am so, so tired—”

“No.” Spock is shaking his head. “Michael, no—” He goes towards her, reaching out his hand and stopping short of touching her. “Please, do not say these things. You are not a monster. It is not your fault. You lost your parents to a deed of unspeakable violence, and then you died when you were still a child, attacked on a planet that was meant to be your sanctuary. You—you are not to blame for the violence others inflict on you,” he repeats. “Please, it is not—you are not to blame. It is not selfish, to be tired.”

He hesitates for a moment before crossing to to the window and wrapping his arms around her shoulders. The last time they hugged, Michael was taller than him by a head and a half, and now she barely reaches his chin. She laughs again, a choked little sound, and the tears start rolling down her cheeks as she hugs back. Spock shifts uncomfortably at her crying but keeps holding her. 

“I—apologize,” he says slowly. “I apologize for still showing so much resentment towards you for what you did when we were both children in an effort to protect me. I apologize for pushing you away.”

You apologize,” Michael repeats. She lets go of him to wipe at her eyes and cheeks. Her hands knock against Spock's arms where they're still awkwardly looped around her—she might be unused to crying in front of others, but not as unused as he is to holding someone who's crying. “That's a start, I suppose.”

He's staring at her wet face with concern. “Do you—feel better, Michael?”

“One spoken apology isn't going to preternaturally alleviate my emotional distress.” She still wants to shake him, but she hugs him instead, tighter this time, until she feels him loosening and leaning into her hold. “But thank you.”

“Mother told us that crying is cathartic and not to be shamed.” Slowly, hesitantly, he leans down so that his head is next to hers. They’re mirroring each other again, uncertain in their touch, unpracticed. “But I did not believe her, until you told me that it was—okay.” He sounds out the world deliberately, like he did with all Standard idioms when he was younger. “You used to hold me often, when I cried. I found great comfort in it.”

Michael feels herself smiling a little. “I’m glad.”

“I know that interpersonal relationships are not easily repaired. But I hope I can be a source of some comfort now. To you.”

They stand next to the window, hugging until her tears die down. Their reflections in the glass are still, the warp trails behind them lit with silver.

**Author's Note:**

> This was written immediately after the episode airing. Deepest thanks to m_class, a miracle worker who gave this the world's speediest and most thorough read-through and made sure that it was suitable for outside eyes and not just me raving on Michael's behalf.
> 
> We all know my opinions on this scene.


End file.
